


Five Minutes

by Pessa



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Post-Endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27639079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pessa/pseuds/Pessa
Summary: For five minutes of selfishness, she can endure the rest of it.
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 37
Kudos: 117





	Five Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to my fic Final Bell, which is a post-ep for The Fight. There's probably a way to post a link to it here but I don't know what it is. Anyway you should probably go read that one for this one to make sense.

She can’t sleep.

That part is hardly unusual. All of Voyager knows about the captain’s sleepless nights. Chakotay tears his hair out over it, but really, she thrives on insomnia. Two hours of sleep make her feel more rested than eight.

This is different.

She longs for sleep after her dinner with Chakotay - wants, in a way she almost never does, to just  _ not be _ for a few hours. But the closest she gets is a sort of maddening half-doze, as she tosses and turns and hears his words echo in her head over and over again.

_ You were right. About us. _

_ I wanted someone who loved me to stand between me and the madness. Not push me toward it. _

_ I see now that I can’t ask that of you. _

After a while she gives up. It’s 0300 and normally she’d throw on a uniform and go to the mess for a cup of coffee, but she can’t face it. Her bones feel heavy, like the ship’s gravity is malfunctioning. She looks in the mirror and sees deep lines of exhaustion etched into her face. Her tired eyes are so puffy it looks like she’s been crying.

_ I hope you’re happy, Chakotay,  _ she thinks sourly.  _ I hope that totally unnecessary conversation gave you what you needed. _

The longing for sleep hasn’t left her, and she replicates a mug of chamomile tea and curls up on the couch.

It had all felt very civilized when they were talking it out at dinner. Acknowledging their feelings, addressing why it wouldn’t work, then calmly putting it all away. So mature she could puke.

_ I’m angry at him, _ she thinks. But that doesn’t quite ring true.

_ No. He’s angry at me. _

Yes. That’s it. She almost laughs. How like Chakotay to try to paper over his own uncomfortable feelings with smooth words and dignity. But she can see it now. _I wanted someone who loved me to stand between me and the madness. Not push me toward it,_ he said. He’s furious with her.

She doubts he did it consciously, but still, she has to admire the elegance of his revenge. The only way it would hurt her to learn that he was cutting her out of his heart was if she hadn’t cut him out of hers.

Here, in the dark, curled around the mug like it’s the only warmth in the universe, she can admit it - it does hurt.

She thinks of her hand on his cheek, his shoulder, even his foot, when he was in the infirmary. Her mind was on the ship, her voice was ordering him to face oblivion, but her body still wanted to keep safely ahold of him.

She wouldn’t let herself consciously acknowledge how frightened he was. That would have meant facing her own fear of something happening to him. If she’d been sending him into physical danger that icy grip of terror would have been unavoidable, but this was only a mental journey, and he’s  _ Chakotay _ \- he’s the sanest person she knows.

She has a sudden longing for him right now, so sharp she can almost feel him there. She wants his arms around her, his chest supporting her back. His warmth instead of this stupid tea.

She’ll never have any of that, but soon - maybe not tomorrow, or next week, but soon - someone else will.

She stands up. Enough.

She splashes water in her face, then, bracing her hands on the sink, she looks herself in the mirror again.

“Enough,” she says again, out loud.

The thing is, everything he said tonight was  _ right _ . They both know it. It’s why they keep circling back to this same point over and over. They can’t be together and run this ship.

But she can’t seem to give him up, either.

She has to let him go, but she can’t, but she ]has to. There’s no solution, but there needs to be. She needs some damn  _ sleep _ , but sleep won’t come.

“Five minutes,” she says, before she knows what she means.

Five minutes.

A bargain with herself.

She can’t have him. Can’t keep holding on to his future. Has to let it go.

_ You do that, Kathryn, you let him live his life, and someday you can give yourself five minutes to be utterly selfish.  _

_ That’s a fair trade. Isn’t it? _

She doesn’t know if it is or not, but suddenly her eyelids are heavy. She crawls back into bed and falls into a deep and dreamless sleep.

_ Five minutes,  _ she thinks to herself the next morning when she sees him on the bridge.

_ Five minutes,  _ she reminds herself when they’re in the midst of the Equinox crisis and he looks at her like he doesn’t know her.

_ Five minutes, _ she whispers, when she’s followed him back from Quarra and she aches with loneliness.

_ Five minutes, _ she thinks, when the rumors reach her about him and Seven.

Those five minutes are always in the future, never now, and in her stronger moments she thinks she’ll never use them. But they’re enough to keep her going.

And then they’re not going forward anymore. They’ve made it back.

After the crew clean out their quarters and the department heads shut down their stations, she and Chakotay do a final walkthrough of Voyager. It’s a formality, really - Voyager’s checking into Utopia Planitia for a long-overdue bout of maintenance tomorrow, and some thoughtful admiral’s assistant put this on the schedule, probably thinking they’d like a chance to say goodbye.

She tries to indulge in the proper nostalgia, but can’t quite get in the right frame of mind. She’s not used to doing things for purely sentimental reasons.

“It’s unsettling, isn’t it?” he says, as though reading her mind. He jerks his head toward the view port, where Earth hangs, lovely and looming. “That should be a comforting sight, but… I keep thinking,  _ We’re in orbit. Are they hostile? Will they trade? Who’s on the away team? How quickly can we get away?” _

She laughs and rests a hand on his chest. No one else in the universe would have known what she was feeling right now. “Yes. You know, I think the only time I came close to relaxing on Voyager was when we were at warp.”

He grins at her. “When the stars were streaks, at least we knew we weren’t about to be brainwashed by alien hunters--”

“Or have our organs harvested--”

“Or thrown back to 1996.”

“Or crashed in a shuttle.”

He gave her a faux-hurt look. “I hope that wasn’t a dig at me.”

“Never.” Feeling bold, she adds, “Or infected by insect bites.”

His gaze flies to hers for a split second, but out loud he just says, “Well, we’re home now.”

“Mmm.”

They wander through the ship slowly, and it strikes her that this is the only time they’ve ever been alone together aboard. Maybe the last time alone together, ever. Their partnership has fulfilled its intended purpose.

“How are things with Seven?” she makes herself ask.

He runs his hand along the bulkhead. “Strange,” he says drily. “But… better than I’d have expected. We’ll see.”

She can’t tell if he’s hedging because it’s not working out, or so as not to jinx something precious.

Or maybe, she thinks, suddenly tired, it’s just because it’s none of her business.

“Computer,” she blurts, “Set a timer for five minutes.”

_ “Five minutes, and counting,”  _ the calm voice says, as Chakotay looks at her in surprise.

“Uh--”

She holds up a hand. God, this was a bad idea. But she owes it to her past self.

“Don’t say anything,” she says. “Just let me talk, all right? That’s not an order, just -- please.”

He nods, looking confused but not worried, and a fist squeezes around her heart.

“I know you’re building a life now,” she says. “I want you to be happy. That’s the most important thing.”

There’s something dawning in his face. She can’t tell if it’s hope or apprehension. 

“Chakotay, if this thing with you and Seven is for real…” her breath catches. “I’ll cheer the loudest at the wedding, I swear.” His eyes widen at the word “wedding” and she hurries on. “I’ll never say another word after this. But, if it doesn’t work out, and if you still...” Her eyes are filling with tears. She blinks them away. “Well, give me a call. Whether that’s next week or in ten years. Because I’ve tried for seven years not to need you and I still don’t have the hang of it.”

“Kathryn,” he whispers, then stops himself. 

She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. “Anyway. That’s all I wanted to say. Guess I didn’t need five minutes after all. Janeway to Starfleet, two to beam down.”

“Kath-”

The beam mercifully captures them before he can speak.

Four days crawl by. She only talks to him in meetings. Once she sees him and Seven at a little cafe around the corner from Starfleet HQ. He’s holding her hand.

Well. That’s what she expected, after all.

The fifth day is a Saturday - her first true day off in over seven years - and she spends it as lazily as possible. Not usually her style, but even she deserves a break after seven years of constant adrenaline, right? She stays in her pajamas in her temporary quarters and looks at apartment listings. Word is she’s up for a promotion, which probably means being stuck planetside, but that still leaves a lot of possibilities. Indiana. New York. Paris, Milan, Acapulco. She’s getting a headache.

She’s just contemplating a nap when her door chime sounds. She opens the door and it’s him.

He looks different in civilian clothes. He fills her door frame. Somehow she’d forgotten how tall he is.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

“Can I come in?”

She brushes a self-conscious hand over her pajama buttons, but says, “Of course.” 

She shuts the door behind him and turns to find him looking at her. Suddenly nervous, she says, “I’ll make some coffee. Do you want a coffee?” and heads for the kitchen. But as she passes him he grabs her wrist.

“No,” he says softly.

Her heartbeat begins to pick up. She tries to keep her breathing even. Tries not to stare at his mouth.

“What was that business with the five minutes?” he asks.

“Is this you --” she can’t bear it. She pulls her hand out of his grasp. “Is this you giving me a call?”

“Tell me about the five minutes,” he says again. “What you said up there -- it was kind of out of left field, you know.”

“Was it?” she says quietly. “I never thought I hid it well.”

He says nothing.

“You remember the night we had dinner after chaotic space?”

“Oh yes.”

“I had trouble sleeping after that,” she says. “So I made a bargain with myself. Five minutes of selfishness.”

“With me.”

“Yes.”   
“That was over two years ago.”

“Yes.”

“I ended things with Seven,” he says.

“Oh,” she says. “Is that -- how is she?”

“She’s fine,” he says, with that same wry affection as when he spoke of her the other day. “She wasn’t pleased. You know she likes big changes to be her idea. But I was already starting to get on her nerves.”

She gives a high, nervous laugh and ducks her head. “Look, I shouldn’t have gotten in the way of that. It was just - a stupid promise to myself I had to keep. You don’t have to --”

Gentle fingers lift her chin and then his lips are on hers.

His lips are soft, like she always knew they would be. The kiss is soft too, gentle and tentative like the conversation they’ve been having, his hand cupping her jaw like something precious, but then she makes a sound in the back of her throat and he groans and hauls her closer and oh,  _ seven years _ , and it’s like a dam has broken.

After long moments he pulls back. He’s breathing hard and he leans his forehead against hers and she wants to weep with relief that he still feels it too.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he says softly.

She shakes her head. “No. But I don’t care.”

He raises his eyebrows. “This is a new side of you.”

“What about you?” she asks. “You’re the one who said you needed to move on.”

“Really thought I meant it, too. What an idiot.” He leans in to kiss her again. She places her fingers on his mouth to stall him.

“One more thing,” she says. “I just need you to know. Whether we’re together or not -- I will never push you toward the madness again. I will always stand between you.”

He looks sad to hear his words echoed back to him. “Oh, Kathryn,” he says. “Have you been holding onto that since that night?”

“Damn, I killed the mood, didn’t I.”

He laughs. “Not even close.”

“Good,” she breathes, standing on tiptoe. “I’d like the rest of my five minutes now. It may take a while.”


End file.
